


Persistence

by Rod



Series: Practice Makes Perfect [2]
Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod/pseuds/Rod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in the warehouse, Chris tackles Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I've been biting my tongue around my partner all afternoon, and sooner or later someone's going to notice the blood. That someone, let me assure you, is not going to be Sam. That's the whole reason why I'm being tactful; he won't talk to me. Hell, he barely acknowledges my existence.

A couple of nights ago, Sam nearly had to rape me in front of an audience. Our backup would have arrived before anything actually happened, but it would still have been embarrassing. I think I could have coped with the jokes that would have been running round the office, but they would have hurt. What they don't know, what nobody knows, is just how much I wanted Sam to do it.

It was hardly love at first sight on my part. I hadn't had a partner since I joined CI5, and I didn't want one. No, that's not quite right: I'd had several partners but I'd managed to ditch them all in short order. I preferred working alone. I said it was because other people couldn't keep up, but the shrinks and I knew better than that. I didn't want someone I'd have to be responsible for, because the last person I actually wanted to play that part for died on our wedding day.

Anyhow, Malone had called me into his office to assign me someone new again, and told me that frankly he didn't expect me to last the assessment period with this one. My partner-to-be had even more of a reputation for chewing people up and spitting out the remains than I did, which was saying something. Malone was trying to psyche me out of course, which just made me all the more determined to ditch this guy quickly.

Sam had been given the same lecture, I guess, because he started off by trying to freeze me out extra hard. Spies are trained to be cold, unfeeling bastards, and Sam was a very good spy. I was having none of it, and carried on with my brash and superficial act purely to annoy him. It didn't seem to, which annoyed the hell out of me, and so the battle of wills began.

It took a while for it to dawn on me that I wanted to get into his pants, not his head. It was the car bomb that did it, when Sam held on to me until Backup could do her magic. I tried to tell him to get out of there and save himself, but he made it abundantly clear that nothing in heaven or earth, and most particularly not one Chris Keel, was going to make him leave.

When I finally got to bed that night, as opposed to the catnap I managed while Sam was watching over me, sleep was a long time coming. We'd caught the bad guys, put one over on Special Branch again and come out of it with all limbs intact, though Wolston House's French windows would never look the same again. Even with my nightmare-ridden nap, I should have been happily exhausted and in the Land of Nod in minutes.

Instead, I lay there thinking about Sam's hands. Pianist's hands my mother would have called them, with long supple fingers and a firm strength. Hands that held me and wouldn't let go. It had felt good to be held by those hands, even with the stress of events; it was good to have someone be responsible for me for a change.

That night's dream scared me more than sitting on the car bomb. I went through my old nightmare again, for the second time in a day, and finished up as ever holding Teresa's dead body. But this time there was a strong pair of hands on my shoulders, and a quiet British voice telling me that I would get through this. I let Sam hold me as his hands soothed me, protected me, aroused me. In my dream I leant in to kiss him...

...and woke in panic to the shrill screaming of my alarm clock.

I spent a long time soaking in the shower, rationalising furiously. It was a perfectly natural reaction to delayed shock, I told myself. I'd had several close calls in a short space of time, and I just wanted to feel safe. The fact that it was Sam who I felt safe with was a bit disconcerting, but not exactly news. He was my partner, the man who by definition watched my back. The kissing and cuddling bit was just me confusing feeling safe with the security I'd felt with Teresa. Not that the idea of kissing a man shocked me too much, I guess. Heck, I'd experimented like many kids when I was younger, if you can dignify drunken adolescent fumblings with that word. Then I'd met Teri, and decided that this particular sailor was just for the nice girls.

No, all this was just me in a post-adrenal rush, looking for nothing in particular except to forget the day. Whatever the case, I definitely wasn't about to tell Sam that he'd had a starring role in my dream. I just casually ditched the idea of not having him as my partner.

I managed to fool myself with this line of bullshit for weeks. I wasn't interested in men, hadn't been for years, and in particular I wasn't interested in my partner. The fact that the end of each mission was accompanied by X-rated dreams of Sam was entirely irrelevant, just my subconscious adjusting to the idea of having a partner at all. Honest.

Then Sam fell for that damned woman who turned out to be a Mafia killer, and I lost it big time. I was jealous of her, and furious with him. How dare she waltz in and try to take my partner off me, and how could he not see she was up to no good? I kept telling myself that I was suspicious of her because little things didn't add up, but even my long experience of lying to myself couldn't pull that one off. The green-eyed monster had got me but good.

We finished the case and took her down. We even got grudging thanks from the FBI for finding one of their rotten apples. A job well done, Malone said, and you don't get praise like that from him often. None of it mattered a damn to me; the important thing was that I still had Sam.

In that night's post-mission nightmare, he died at my wedding shielding me. I held both him and Teri to me, and I didn't know which loss hurt me most. When I woke up, still howling my grief, I knew I'd got it serious for him.

That only lead to a whole host of new problems. I might be able to cope with the fact that I lusted after another man, for all the time that I spent in denial, but Sam was another matter. The British have some very funny notions about sex, and the British military (and technically MI6 is a military operation) are even weirder. If it's not the missionary position they think you're sick, and gay sex is reserved for eccentric aristocrats and politicians.

The chances were that Sam was going to be shocked and appalled if I told him I wanted him. The vanishingly small chance that he might reciprocate my feelings disappeared entirely as I found out more about his background; apparently Sam grew up on an estate where gay bashing was a perfectly acceptable form of recreation.

So I resigned myself to unrequited lust, and just spent my time sneaking peeks at my partner when no one else was paying attention. Thanks to Malone's neurotic husbanding of the CI5 budget — he's never forgiven me for crashing that plane — I got a lot of peeks as we shared hotel rooms. I can now state with absolute confidence that you haven't died until you've spent the night with someone you desperately want to climb into bed with sleeping nearly naked and only six feet away from you.

The first night I slept extremely badly, paranoid that I was going to have erotic dreams of him and blurt out my secret in my sleep. The only thing that saved me from an interrogation in the morning was the fact that Sam didn't sleep too well either, and we needed all of our functioning brain cells to work the case. It's gotten easier since then, but only because I've learned to sleep despite the torture.

So we come back to two nights ago, and our almost too close encounter. I've been giving him space since then, partly because he needs to come to terms with what nearly happened, and partly because I don't trust myself not to jump him. I want him that badly. If we hadn't been interrupted — by Sam's friend, no less — I'd have willingly wished Backup & Co miles away to have Sam take me there and then. I can't tell him that, and I don't know what else to say, so I've been saying nothing and just hanging around. Real cool, I know. Sam hasn't said anything either, but that's typical of him.

Then this morning we visited Danny in hospital. I've tried to like Danny, really I have, but he just rubs me the wrong way. Oh, I've put in my hours sitting by his hospital bed waiting for him to wake up, but I was doing it for Sam not him, because for some unfathomable reason Sam likes the guy.

We didn't meet under ideal circumstances I suppose, him being a suspect in a murder enquiry we were working on, but then he had to spring it on me that not only did he know Sam but that Sam was his fucking alibi. He's a male prostitute for God's sake, my jealousy rating went off the scale. What was I supposed to think? For all he protested that he and Sam had never done the dirty, and for all I know Sam is straight, I couldn't shake the image of the two of them in bed. At the very least he was a part of Sam's life that Sam had kept private from me, and I resented that. All very irrational I know, but I'm not rational where Sam's concerned.

The next time I saw him, he was crashing in through the ceiling to rescue us, and I didn't know whether to thank him or throttle him. It didn't matter anyway, he got shot for his troubles, and whatever I thought of him I couldn't let him die.

With typical dumb-ass Keel reasoning I really let him have it this morning, letting him know how stupid it was for him to have gotten into that fight, how easily he could have died, how lucky he was that he only had to undergo surgery. Sam was no help at all, almost laughing at the sight of me delivering his bodybag lecture to someone else. At least it was a reaction, and I was pathetically grateful to get anything from him even as I frothed at Danny.

He stopped laughing when Danny told us to talk. I wasn't any too impressed either. Danny phrased it as a request, but it came off as more like an order and I'm not one to blindly follow orders any more. If being in the Navy has taught me anything it's that when the brass aren't prepared to explain your mission parameters, it's because the shit is about to hit the fan. Danny doesn't even out-rank us, so where exactly did he get off ordering us around anyhow? And just what precisely gave him any idea what I was going through, and how impossible it was for me to even hint to Sam about it?

"I told you because I could see what you were thinking," he said, after reminding me that he and Sam were just friends. It was what he left unsaid that gave me something to think about. Danny had gone out of his way to tell me there was nothing between him and Sam, and I was sure he could tell I was jealous. Was it really possible that my partner wasn't struggling with revulsion at the mere thought of having sex with me? Was there hope after all?

Sam was unmoved. I didn't follow the argument between him and Danny at all, there were too many references to people and things that I didn't know, but Sam came away stony faced. He's been like that ever since, freezing me out every time I ask something more personal than whether or not he'd like another coffee.

Now we've finally hit the end of our shift with a significant lack of emergencies to keep us at work, and we've exchanged as few words today as when we were first partnered. I guess it's up to me to break the ice since I've halfway convinced myself that Danny is right. I stretch backwards in my chair and sigh loudly, catching Sam's attention.

"Well, that's it, evil is duly dispatched for the day. I could do with a drink. You coming?"

Sam considers this for a moment, raising my spirits considerably, then he shakes his head. "I wouldn't be good company at the moment."

"Oh c'mon, it'll do you good to get out a bit. Mix, mingle, strut your funky stuff, that sort of thing."

"My stuff is exceptionally unfunky right now. I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not going to work. See you tomorrow, Chris."

Well, that went well I think as he grabs his jacket and leaves. Full marks for trying, zip for results. I do what I always do in the face of abject defeat, fall back and plan another offensive while I eat. One burger and beer later, I still can't think of anything better than a frontal assault. I don't expect it to work, not when Sam's in full iceman mode, but the need to know what he's thinking is so strong that I'm willing to try anything. Almost anything; I don't think I could manage to tell him what I feel for him.

Anyway, after a quick stop at a liquor store for a mind-numbingly expensive bottle of wine that he'd damn well better appreciate, I find myself standing outside Sam's flat. I'm not sure this is a good idea any more but it's too late now, I've pressed the buzzer. It takes a while, but eventually Sam opens the door with a world-weary look on his face. "I thought you were going out to strut your funky stuff."

I paste on a big grin, hoping that he won't notice how nervous I am. "I got bored with that, so I thought I'd brighten up your life instead." I wave the bottle at him. "See, I come bearing gifts."

Sam's eyebrows do rise a little at the sight of me with wine, but he doesn't give way. "My life doesn't need brightening up, Chris."

"Ah, but it does. You've been looking about as cheerful as my Aunt Iris' Pekinese all day. Even Richards commented on it. There, he said, is a man whose life needs brightening up." I manage to stop myself babbling and switch back to the death grin. When all else fails, try the dimples. It always works on the women.

Sam hesitates. "You're not going to go away are you."

"Nope."

"You know this is a bad idea?"

"Yup."

He sighs and yields. "Just so long as you know. There's some Budweiser in the fridge if you'd rather."

"Great!" I mount a search and destroy mission for the beer, and am quickly back in Sam's lounge with a Bud in hand. Sam has retreated to his easy chair, where a glass and a half-empty bottle indicate he's already been at some wine this evening. He further hides from me behind a book, something in German as far as I can tell. Since my German extends just far enough for "Two beers please, my friend's paying," I haven't a clue as to what it's about. Normally that would be a deterrent. Tonight, given my plans for conversational assault, it's an opportunity. "Good book?"

"Mm-hm."

"What's it about?"

"It's poetry, Chris."

"Yeah, but what's it about?"

Sam gives me a look perilously close to Malone's over-the-glasses you're-in-deep-shit-now glare. Whatever he was going to say though, he decides against it and just sighs.

Now that I've got him looking at me, it's time to change the subject to one closer to my purpose here. "Anyway, I'm glad to see Danny's been a civilising influence on you."

Sam instantly goes on the defensive. I guess it was rather too few hops from mentioning Danny to his telling us to talk. "What do you mean?"

I wave the Bud at him. "You're stocking proper cold beer, which I'm guessing is his fault."

Sam laughs, but there's no warmth to it. "Danny is as rude about American beer as he is about American everything else."

"Oh." Yes indeedy. That means Sam must have been stocking this for me, unless he has some other Bud-drinking buddies he hasn't told me about. "Thanks. I'll have to start stocking wine, I guess."

Sam gives me The Look again, so I smile brightly. "I know, you consider my taste in wine to be a health hazard. So educate me."

To my surprise, Sam clams up again. Hard. So much for providing him with an opening on a safe topic.

"OK, what did I say?"

"It's nothing, Chris."

"Come on, Sam. You're my partner and my friend," and my secret lust object, "and I've said something out of place, but you're gonna have to help me here or I'll never figure out what."

"I said it's nothing."

"The hell it is!" I rein back my temper with some difficulty. "Sam, we've got to talk. I can't keep walking through conversational minefields like this."

Sam throws his book down. "You want to talk?" he snaps. "Fine. But how's talking going to help when I was this close to raping you? I know how you feel about the subject, and damn it you're my partner, I'm not supposed to—"

This is too close for comfort. I have to break in, to stop him talking. How ironic. "I'm a big boy, Sam. I knew what I was getting into, that there was a risk I might have to have sex. I was ready for it. You made the right choice."

"You have no idea what rape is like!" Sam explodes.

"And you do, I suppose?" My temper has gotten the better of me again, and we sit there glaring at each other. Then my brain registers what's in his eyes, and all the anger turns to self-loathing. "Oh God, you do know. Sam, I'm so sorry, I never thought..."

"That's enough, Keel."

There's nothing I can say. Sam drops his head in his hands, and I kneel by his chair to put a supportive hand on his shoulder. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I want to hold him, to tell him it's all right, to wash away his pain, but I can't. I want to cry and scream at the universe for being so unfair, that the man I love is in front of me and making love to him would be the cruellest thing I could do.

"What, no demands for the gory details?"

I shake my head. "Not unless you want to. I'm here for you buddy, that's all." I squeeze his shoulder, and have to grit my teeth as he flashes me a grateful smile. It hurts so much to see my hopes dashed, to have to be just a friend to him.

He takes a long ragged breath. "It was a long time ago. Someone I foolishly trusted for a while." Christ, it gets better and better. "It never really stops hurting, Chris. It just sits there nibbling away at you. It... scares me."

"It's OK. It'll never happen again, not while I'm here." I just hope he never finds out how much it cost me to say that.

Sam looks down again, and I know I've misread him somehow. I don't know how, though, and this isn't a good time to push. Besides, I'm so caught up in my own whirling thoughts that I doubt I'd understand even if he told me. A harsh little laugh leaks out.

"So that's what Danny meant." And damn him, he could have let me down a little easier. "I thought you just needed a little time. I didn't realise how much the whole setup must have revolted you."

Sam rounds on me. "It's not like that. _I_ nearly raped _you_."

"Didn't happen."

"You don't get it, do you? After all that had happened to me, I had you in the same situation that I'd been in and I couldn't do a thing about it."

"You had no choice." Not that I wanted you to choose any different.

"I did," he says, so quietly I almost don't hear him.

"But when it came down to it, you didn't do it."

"Only because I was stopped!" The words pour out of him like an urgent confession, trying to make me understand what a scumbag he thinks he is. The poor deluded fool. "If it hadn't been for Danny, I don't think I could have stopped myself, even knowing how you feel about it. I just stood there like a rabbit stuck in headlights. I was becoming Morgan, and that really scares me, Chris. I know exactly what it would have done to you, how it would have torn you up, and I... I don't think I could have lived with myself if I'd raped you. It hurts enough that I came so close. I love you too much for that."

He realises what he's said the moment it's out of his mouth, and he looks horrified. I love you too much. He's waiting for my reply, all open and vulnerable, and I can't speak because his words are on continuous replay in my head. I love you too much. I love you too much.

"Couldn't happen."

Sam looks away, crushed, misinterpreting me. I catch his face in my hand, voice suddenly back with me for the emergency. "Look at me, Sam. It. Couldn't. Happen. You can't rape someone who's willing."

He looks confused, like he can't believe what I'm saying. I make it as unambiguous as possible.

"I love you too."

I want to carry on, to tell him how much I've wanted him for so long, but his lips are on mine with an urgency that goes straight to my groin, and talk is no longer an option.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam is without doubt one of the best kissers I've ever come across, right up there with Teresa. He practically devours me, as if he was afraid he might open his eyes and find I'd disappeared. That's exactly how I feel, after all. I can't believe this is really happening. I've dreamed it for so long, it doesn't feel real. I'd almost, almost accepted that I couldn't have him, and now he's here in my arms, kissing me.

He growls something I don't catch, and slips my jacket off my shoulders. I let it fall, intent on the duel our tongues have started. I explore his mouth with mine, tasting his unique flavour. I sigh in disappointment as his lips slide away, then gasp again as he fastens onto my neck. Hell, he's good at this.

I abandon myself to those lips, and the hands that are gently stroking me through my thin T-shirt. I retain enough presence of mind to start slowly picking at Sam's shirt buttons, inch by inch exposing more of him. Eventually my hands slide under the fabric to the heated skin beneath, and I trace lazy designs with my fingers across his back. He arches into my touch like a cat, as his hands scrabble to pull my T-shirt from under the waistband of my jeans.

He pulls my shirt off so slowly, brushing my neck with kisses the whole time, that I almost moan at the sensuality of it. There is a ghost of pain from my almost-healed back as the fabric is eased over it, but it's not enough to break my attention from Sam. The aching disappointment as I have to break contact with him to lift the cotton over my head and arms is replaced almost immediately with another blast of pleasure as Sam's teeth fasten on a nipple, teasing me oh so gently to hardness. My clothing drops to the floor unheeded; Sam has all of what's left of my attention. My hands run through the silky mass of his dark hair and massage his shoulders before sliding down to trace slow circles around his nipples. I hear him moan with pleasure as he continues to explore my body. Then it's my turn to undress him, as I slip his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

As Sam wriggles his arms free I drop down level with him, and let my mouth roam around his neck and the hollow of his throat. My light kisses, lips barely brushing his skin, combined with my still roaming fingers, stimulate him further. I can feel his racing heartbeat and hear the unevenness of his breathing as I drink in his scent, marking in my mind the places and actions that make him gasp again. He allows me to investigate him for a while, then swoops to capture my lips with his and drag me into a standing embrace.

We kiss, bodies pressed to each other, for what seems like hours. I can feel his hardness rubbing against me through his slacks, just as he must be able to feel the answering bulge in my jeans. Eventually our lips break apart, and Sam pulls back slightly to look at me. I feel shy, like a high-school kid on his first date, but I'm captivated by his flushed face and the silver sheen of arousal in his eyes. He is beautiful, there's no other word for it.

"Bedroom," he says.

I can't muster even that much speech, so I just nod in mute agreement and let him lead me. Once there, a burst of energy overtakes me. I slip away from Sam, kissing his knuckles in reassurance, then quickly strip and lie back on the bed. Sam looks at me hungrily, like a starving dog at a bone. I sprawl invitingly before him, utterly his, needing him like I've never needed anyone except Teresa.

Sam slips onto the bed, straddling me with his knees. "God, you're beautiful," he says, and leans forward to kiss me again. He starts at my forehead, and slowly moves down, pausing when he reaches my lips and my arched throat. My hands move slowly around the waistband of his slacks, slipping them open and sliding his erection free from the prison of his boxers. Our cocks touch, and an electric bolt of pleasure surges through me. I could be content with this — hell I could be content with anything if Sam's beside me — but he has other ideas.

His lips continue their downward path over my body, planting a line of kisses down my breastbone and over the flat plain of my abdomen. His hands light fires as they ghost over my skin, caressing me, and I writhe under his touch. I think I whimper, I'm not sure; I'm not in control of my vocal cords any more.

I'm shivering with anticipation as he reaches my erection. His lips withdraw as his hands trace the triangle of my pubic hair and move on to my inner thighs, opening me up to his inspection. He briefly kisses the root of my cock, nuzzling me and tearing a soft moan from my lips. Then the bastard blows gently across my tip. If I whimpered before, I howl now. He grins and starts suckling my balls, a feeling that's just indescribable. I know I can't last long here, I'm drowning in a sea of sensation, but there's something else that I want. Something else that he needs. "Sam!"

At first he doesn't here me, or at least he doesn't pay attention. My second cry is more urgent, more pleading, and he looks up in alarm. I want to reassure him, to tell him that nothing's wrong, that I have a plan for once, but I can barely string two words together. "Want you."

He smiles at me so slowly and tenderly I could cry. "You've got me, Chris."

No you great idiot, I want you to fuck me through the mattress. "In me!"

For the first time since we started kissing, he looks hesitant. "Are you sure?"

"Sure." I've only been thinking about it, dreaming of it for the last forty eight hours solid, and I guess you have too, Sam. Besides, you have some old ghosts to lay, if you'll pardon the pun. "Need it."

Desire wars openly with fear on his face, more emotion than I've seen there in an entire month. He still looks hesitant as he moves round to the bedside table and roots around in the drawer. It occurs to me that he needs some encouragement — he's still partly wearing his pants, for example — when he pulls out a familiar foil packet and a small tube that takes longer to place. Oh yeah, K-Y or something like it, I'd almost forgotten.

I sit up unsteadily, and gently catch his wrists to make him pause. Then I kiss him on the stomach, lips ghosting over his skin as I feel out the contours of those taut muscles, and let my hands massage his buttocks and thighs. He's got a gorgeous ass, no question about that.

I slip to my knees as I move down his body, skirting his erection as I home in on those inner thighs. Sam sags as I nibble and lick my way down, putting his weight on my shoulders. His breathing is loud and ragged again, not quite groaning. My busy hands, meanwhile, have been pushing down his pants and boxers and slipping off his shoes and socks, until he too is naked. God, what a sight.

Moving back up his body, I return to his engorged cock. I want to take him in my mouth, but there'll be other times. God, please let there be other times! Instead I lick him from root to weeping tip, tasting him and at last making him moan with pleasure, then take the condom from him and slowly, reverently roll it down his length. Then I roll back onto the bed on my hands and knees and wait for him. This will hurt, but it'll be a good hurt and Sam needs it.

I relax as I feel him teasing around my opening and spread my legs wider, inviting him in. Then he enters me, slipping in past the muscles I've been trying so hard to relax, and I gasp in mingled shock and indignation. I know thinking isn't high on my list of available options right now, but even I can tell the difference between Sam's finger and his shaft up my ass. What the hell does he think he's doing?

On mature reflection, I decide that I don't care what he's doing as long as he keeps on doing it. The finger keeps sliding in and out, teasing me, probing me. Then I feel his lips caressing my back, kissing and licking at the few surviving marks of Declan's whip. The ghost of the pain that sicko inflicted dissipates under his tender ministrations, leaving my whole body tingling. Slowly I feel myself relaxing into his invasion, as he gently pushes further inside me. I push back, wanting more, then he touches something and my senses explode. I arch my back and cry out in sheer surprise. I don't know what he did, but I want more of it. "Whuh?"

"Prostate," Sam manages to gasp out. "You like?" I can only moan in response, words are beyond me. It takes me a moment to realise that while I was blissed out, Sam has slipped a second finger into me. It hurts a little, stretching me wide, but not nearly as much as I had been expecting. He knows what he's doing, I realise, loosening me up for something much bigger, much hotter than a finger. I can trust him. I do trust him. A tension I hadn't realised was still in me leaks away as I abandon myself utterly to Sam's hands.

Two fingers become three before Sam is satisfied that I am properly prepared for him. I don't care, I could lose myself in his touch. Then slowly, tenderly I feel his cock invade me, inching gently forwards until he's fully inside, his pubic hair tickling my ass.

It's a weird feeling, being stretched so far by something so hot and hard, and I luxuriate in our closeness as Sam just holds me for a moment.

Then he starts to thrust, and his short, slow movements hit that magic spot again. I cry out, moaning with each thrust as Sam picks up the pace. I hear his grunts as I thrust back against him, then a gel-slicked hand reaches round and starts to pump me in a counter-rhythm. Dear God I'm flying, and I don't ever want to come down! All I have to do is not explode from the sheer sensations that Sam is evoking in me.

Eventually I can't hold it any longer and come, pumping uncontrollably over his hand. I feel my orgasm drag Sam over the edge too, and our cries combine into one as he releases himself into me. I collapse, spent, as Sam eases himself out and flops down beside me. I hug him to me, needing the warmth of his body to reassure me that this isn't some glorious dream.

We cuddle for a while, struggling to come back to ourselves. I am amazed by him, by what he's awoken in me. I know I said I wanted Sam in me, but I was expecting to have to endure it for his sake. Instead I'm lying here with my head in a spin and a pleasantly sore ass, wondering when I get to do it again. Not _too_ soon, I hope, or I may die of ecstasy.

Eventually Sam pulls away from my embrace, looking at me face to face. I grin up at him, exhausted but happy, and am puzzled by the weird look in his eyes. There's a real concern and a diffident shyness there, something I've never seen before. Sam Curtis, uncertain of himself? This never happens; except that even his speech is hesitant now. "Was that... OK?"

I can't help it, I howl with laughter. Sam's face closes up and he glowers as I wave an impotent finger at him, but this is just so priceless, so completely Sam. I retain just enough sense of self-preservation to grab his hands before he swats me as I desperately try to regain control of my diaphragm.

"Sorry Sam, but only you could give me the most incredible experience of my life and then ask if it was OK. No, it sure as hell wasn't OK. It was fucking awesome!" I kiss his fingers in emphasis, then grin up at him innocently. "And awesome fucking, too."

Sam struggles manfully to maintain a stern facade, but I can tell he's forgiven me. I decide on the spur of the moment that he needs to lighten up, and tickle him to help the laugh out. He retaliates in kind, showing me in no uncertain terms that like Teresa and unlike everyone else I've ever known, he has the knack of reducing me to a quivering pile of giggles. This seems only fair, since I'm managing much the same on him.

We end up falling on each other — well, OK, Sam manages to pin me, but only because I'm laughing so much — and suddenly we're kissing again. It's passionate, and even though the edge has been well and truly taken off our urgency I can tell I'm not the only one feeling stirrings again south of the border.

"I haven't been this horny since I was a teenager."

"Me neither. Chris, I... this isn't just sex is it?" That uncertainty is back in his eyes, and I realise that there's fear lurking there too. Sam needs to be reassured. It's funny, he's always so much in control, I'd never imagined that he could ever be the slightest bit insecure about anything.

"No, this isn't just sex," I say with complete honesty. This is no time for jokes, it's too important to brush off. "I love you, Sam. I've loved you for months. I want to be with you. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me, and nothing but nothing is going to change that."

He hesitates again, but the slow, shy smile spreading across his whole face tells the story. "You'd better be very sure of that. Forever could be a very long time."

I beam at him, relief flooding through me. He loves me too, even if the words don't come easily to him. He's said it once already, and that's enough for me. He's shown me so much emotion since I got here that I don't need the extra miracle. Instead I steal a quick kiss, just pecking at the end of his nose, and lower the tone of the conversation. "The sex is good too."

Sam does laugh this time, no longer hiding behind his British reserve. "You have a one track mind, you know that?"

"Yes," I say, not the slightest bit abashed. Then we stop talking for a long, long time. We've got all evening, just for starters.


	3. Chapter 3

Last night Sam and I made love for the first time. It was glorious, and as I fell asleep in his arms I thought nothing could dent the peace and happiness I feel simply being with my lover. When his soft snoring woke me, I almost revised my opinion. Still, at least it meant that I got up on time for once.

Now Sam emerges from the bedroom, freshly showered and immaculately groomed, ready for the coffee and toast that is about as far as my cooking stretches. It's a good thing we both eat lightly first thing, I doubt he'd be impressed with what I do to bacon.

We don't say a lot to start with, too overwhelmed with what we've done. I don't know about Sam, but I'm half afraid that if I say something I'll break the spell, and this wonderful feeling of contentment that's been flowing through me will go away, taking Sam with it.

We touch, though, we touch a lot. We just held each other when we awoke this morning, not needing sex to make the moment perfect. Now I find myself stroking his hands, his beautiful pianist's hands, or letting him stroke my face, running a finger down my jawline. If I had any doubts about how much I loved him, which I don't, they'd have vanished at the way I melt into his touch. I am his, entirely and wholly.

Sam breaks the silence eventually. "Chris," he says, fiddling with his suddenly fascinating piece of toast, "we're serious aren't we?"

I smile at him, even though he's not looking at me. I've gotten real talented at interpreting Sam-speak over time, and he's not going to tell me much more plainly that he's serious. And am I? Boy, am I ever! "I love you, idiot. It doesn't come more serious than that."

Sam looks up and smiles at me, and I feel my own smile grow so wide in response that it almost hurts. Then he drops the bomb.

"We have to tell Malone."

I can't believe he said that. After the lengths we've gone to in order to conceal our feelings from each other never mind anyone else, he suddenly wants to tell the world? He wants to give Malone an excuse? I try to reach for a coherent argument, but all that comes out is "No fucking way!"

Sam actually looks surprised. "It's got to happen, Chris. He's going to find out sooner or later, and it'll be better coming from us."

"It's not going to happen! He doesn't have to find out! We can be discreet!" I know I'm shouting, but Sam's on dangerous ground here. "There's too much at risk, Malone could—"

"See us looking at each other?" Sam interrupts. "See us together, trying not to touch? See us at a hospital bedside? He will eventually, you know, or someone else will, and they'll work it out. We can't hide our feelings forever, you showed me that last night, and if we're serious about this... we are serious, aren't we?"

"We are," I say more quietly than I wanted to. I'm scared in a way I haven't been since Nomine Patri. I could lose Sam here and now if he thinks I'm just humouring him, and compared to that Malone's wrath comes off a poor second best. If I tell him I can keep my hands off him when I need to, will he think I don't love him enough? I daren't take the risk.

"He could fire us," I offer feebly, "or split us up."

I don't think I could take that, knowing that Sam's life depended on someone I don't trust.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam says gently, reaching out to rest his hand lightly on mine. "Trust me, Chris, this is what we have to do. This way, no one can use our relationship against us."

That's my Sam, always figuring the angles. I trust him, I always have, it's just that this time I'm afraid. I've lost someone I loved once before, and I don't want to do anything to risk losing another. Being out in the field is one thing; I know the risks, and I trust him to pull through. Being in love is another matter entirely, and I don't know this terrain nearly well enough. All I know is what I saw in Sam's eyes and heard in his voice last night; even telling him that I loved him didn't entirely take away his uncertainty.

"OK," I say. "I still think you're wrong, but we'll do it your way." I can't look at him, only at his hand still gently clasping mine. He doesn't say any more, just moves his hand to lift my face and kisses me. I kiss him back fiercely, trying to burn the moment into my memory in case it doesn't happen again.

Sam is as good as his word, and heads for Malone the moment we get into the office. We've swung by my place so that I could shower and change as well, delaying the inevitable that little longer.

"Sir, could we have a word with you?"

Malone looks at both of us and purses his lips. "In half an hour, Mr Curtis. I'm expecting a call from the Minister imminently, after which there may very well be something for you two to occupy yourselves with."

I take the excuse and flee, burying myself in make-work for as long as I can. There isn't much of it, but I spin it out. Anything to avoid having to think of what's coming, of what Malone might do to us.

I must look pretty keyed up, because Backup pauses after making a snarky comment about tidying my computer desktop next. "Are you OK?"

I force myself to smile. "I'm fine," I say. That wouldn't fool a five year old, never mind someone as sharp as Backup, and she leans closer to talk quietly.

"Don't let it get to you, Chris. The bastard's going down."

My smile becomes a bit more genuine. "It's OK, I'm handling that. It's just that Sam and I have news for the Great White Chief that he's not going to like."

That, of course, was entirely the wrong thing to say to Backup. "What news?" she asks, moving effortlessly into full inquisitorial mode.

"Oh no you don't, it's strictly on a need to know basis. If you need to know, Malone will make sure you do. Trust me." My winning smile just gets me a disgusted scowl in return, since she used exactly the same words to me a week ago and Malone hasn't yet seen fit to enlighten me.

I am saved from a more detailed interrogation when her terminal goes ping. She retreats, but her eyes promise that I've only put off the evil day.

All too soon our stay of execution runs out, and it's time to face Malone. I close the door of his office behind us, then stand beside Sam in front of Malone's desk. I feel like I'm back in high school, summoned to the Principal's office for some misdemeanour and just knowing that he's going to tell my parents this time.

Malone removes his glasses and stares at us with his usual lack of enthusiasm. "Well, gentlemen, what have you done this time?"

"We thought you should be advised of the change in our status, sir," Sam says with all due formality.

What is it with the British and eyebrows? Anyone would think they had nothing better to do than spend all their time pretending to be Roger Moore.

"We're a couple, sir."

"That is certainly true, Mr Curtis. A couple of what?"

Sam hesitates, making it my turn to fill in the words I really don't want our boss to hear. "We're lovers," I say, and brace myself.

Nothing happens.

Malone sits there, eyebrow still cocked, waiting. No tantrums, no fireworks, no immediate expulsion from the office with assignments to the sorriest shithole he can find. I can scarcely dare to breathe; hell, I'm standing rigidly to attention, and I think Sam is as well.

Eventually Malone's eyebrow reverts to an annoyed frown, which I can almost cope with. "Mr Curtis, Mr Keel, as reports go this is sadly deficient. Please be so good as to outline the sequence of events that resulted in you standing here."

I leave that one to Sam. He's always better than me at averting Malone's wrath.

"There's not a lot to say, sir. We've both been aware of having feelings for each other beyond just being partners for some time now."

"How long?" Malone interrupts, finally showing some animation.

"Since the Cardalucci business," I hear myself saying. "I had to admit that I was jealous of that woman. I'd wanted Sam for months before that, but I wouldn't admit it to myself."

Malone merely nods, and looks to Sam. "Richmond," he says simply.

When I went undercover, and for half a day he didn't know whether I was alive or dead. God, that must have hurt. I fight back the urge to apologise to him there and then.

"Not before?"

Sam colours slightly, the most emotion he's shown since entering Malone's office. "That was when I realised, sir. Though before that I did find his habit of stepping on land mines a little distressing."

"Sheesh! One little land mine, and you never let me forget it!"

"Rightly so, Mr Keel," Malone says, killing my attempt at humour stone dead. He gestures at Sam to continue.

"The case we've just wrapped up brought matters to a head. The situation that Chris was placed in was... extremely unpleasant."

You can say that again. By unspoken consent, we had left our report vague as to exactly what Declan had intended Sam to do. He was to become part of the entertainment, that was bad enough as far as Malone was concerned.

"Having to play along... disturbed me, which disturbed Chris," Sam continues. "We finally talked it out last night, and admitted what we felt for each other. And... uh..."

"Ended up in bed," I finish. It's lame, but Sam's running out of words again and I can't leave him hanging.

Malone pins me to the spot with a glare. "You will speak when I tell you to, Mr Keel, and not a moment before."

I bristle but say nothing; I have to keep my temper under control now, or it's all over. Then Malone switches back to Sam and starts in on him.

Every aspect of every mission we've undertaken in the last few months is brought out and examined in the light of our relationship. Sam is quizzed about the reason behind his every action, and it takes all of my self-control to keep quiet as he admits time and again that my safety was a factor in his considerations. I hope Malone can see that we always came through for him, but it doesn't matter. I know now that I'm going to be the one to sink us because of breaking his all-fucking-important first rule.

When it's my turn, I answer as briefly as possible, bracing myself against the one answer that's going to destroy our chances of ever working together again.

Then we reach Nomine Patri, and that bastard's ready to put a bullet in Sam's brain, and Malone wants to know why I caved.

"Sam would have died, sir."

Sam starts, realising that I've just condemned us. "I think Chris—"

"Did I ask you to speak, Mr Curtis?" Sam subsides, but I can see the fear in his eyes. There was no point lying though, Malone knows us too well not to have seen through me in a heartbeat. "Now Mr Keel, was that the sole criterion in your decision?"

"Yes sir."

It's eyebrow time again. "Your assessment of the tactical situation?"

"I could have taken Kessler and Shaw, but not before they killed Sam." The reply is automatic, dull. I've been through this so many times in my nightmares, killing him again and again as I bulldozed my way to victory.

"And strategically? What did you consider to be the impact of your decision on your mission?"

"If I didn't surrender, I'd still have been able to cross the island and tackle Dane directly." On my own. "Surrender preserved Sam, but left us unable to act."

Sam makes a small noise, but Malone holds up a hand to forestall any comment. "I believe Mr Curtis was about to point out a flaw in your analysis, in that you not only could act but did so. Admittedly you could not have been expected to know that a diversion would be provided for you, but you have proved quite resourceful enough in the past to provide your own. Continue."

I shrug. "That's all, sir. I may have made the right choice, but it was for the wrong reasons."

Malone sighs and pinches his nose. "More details, Mr Keel. This time kindly expand on the problems inherent to what you so glibly described as crossing the island and tackling Dane directly."

"OK so it wouldn't be easy, but it's not like I haven't done that before, sir." Malone just looks at me. "Not against someone as devious as Dane, I admit, and..." I can't say it.

"And last time you had your partner to prevent you stepping on any more land mines." The bastard's making light of my misery, but this time his hand is raised to stop me speaking. "In short, your analysis offered two strategically unattractive options, and you selected the one that maximised your available resources. Very well. Once inside the bunker..."

I'm aware that my mouth is hanging open, and shut it rapidly. I can't believe that Malone let me off that one. Or that he's right, the bastard. I had weighed things up and concluded that Sam's safety was the deciding factor, but that's OK because it was the deciding factor. I answer the rest of Malone's questions in something of a daze. I can't believe it, the old goat has let me off the hook. We might actually get out of this intact. Or at least still in a job.

Eventually Malone decides that he's grilled us enough. "I assume from the fact that you have seen fit to inform me that you believe this will be a long term relationship. That will entail certain difficulties on your part. The first rule is there for your protection, gentlemen, and having broken it you are no longer protected. You will each continue to have make decisions that could result in the death or injury of your partner. If you save him, you will wonder if you acted for the right reasons, as Mr Keel has so ably demonstrated. If you don't, you will always wonder if you could have. Always." He fiddles with his glasses for an uncomfortable moment, then fixes us with another stare. "Who else is aware of your relationship?"

I'm about to say that no one is, when I realise that I'm wrong. Sam beats me to the punch. "Daniel Thurlow."

That surprises Malone. "The boy who was shot attempting to rescue you?"

"Yeah," I say. "He all but bludgeoned us into talking to each other yesterday, so I'm guessing that he knows more than he's saying. He'll notice next time he sees us."

"I did tell him that I was attracted to Chris," Sam admits.

Malone fixes him with a steely glare. "That was exceedingly careless. Is there anything else about your relationship with Mr Thurlow that I should be aware of?"

"No sir."

Malone looks frankly sceptical. "Be that as it may, I will expect a greater level of discretion from both of you in future. I also expect to be told immediately should your relationship end or otherwise change, or should anyone attempt to take advantage of you because of it. Your partnership and psychological reviews will be made more frequent to reassure me on that point. And be warned, gentlemen, if I hear the slightest hint that either of you have put the other's safety ahead of a mission, you will both be back here surrendering your IDs and guns faster than you would believe possible. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yessir," we chorus.

"Good. Dismissed. And send Mr Spencer in."

We leave. I can't believe it, I've just been told that I'll be seeing the psycho squad more often and I'm happy? Hell, I'd have been happy if Malone told me to crawl through broken glass if it meant I could keep my partner and my job. The hard part is not hugging Sam as we head for the coffee room.

"See," Sam says, "that wasn't so bad."

"It could have been a lot worse," I say, still feeling honour bound to defend my position. "OK it wasn't, but it could have been. I should have trusted you, though. I'm sorry."

Sam looks slightly surprised at me, so I do a quick perimeter check. No one else is in the room, near the door or in a position to see in, so I take the opportunity to squeeze his hand. His smile is positively wicked. "Does this mean that there will be kissing and making up later?"

"Oh yes, I think that's a safe bet."


	4. Chapter 4

Busy, busy, busy. Never let it be said that rooting out international organised crime doesn't involve a lot of work, whether that be bending someone's ear on the phone or bending someone's arm on the street. Sam and I are kept on our toes all afternoon with our new case, as is most of the rest of CI5 one way and another.

Even Malone has been in on the act, only allowing himself to be diverted long enough to visit Danny in hospital. High time he met our would-be hero, he said, which didn't fool any of us for an instant. High time he interrogated Danny to within an inch of his life, he meant, and also warned him to keep him mouth shut.

Malone did seem pleased when Backup offered to drive him over to the hospital — apparently she had some books to deliver — but then he hadn't seen the look of alarm that flashed across her face when he made his announcement. Trust Backup to have a soft spot for someone good looking and wounded in the line of duty. I wonder if she fancies him, more than taking chocolates like she always does for me?

Still, Malone seems satisfied when he returns. Evidently Danny put up a good fight, so I quit hassling Spencer for a moment to ask how he was doing. Malone gives me a cock-eyed look and one of those half-smiles that always means trouble, and informs me that Danny's progress in all areas seems to be entirely adequate. "Except for a regrettable tendency to be cheeky to his elders and betters, of course. Please inform Mr Curtis that I'm glad to see your partner's judgement of character is not entirely lacking."

For once, I'm the one to suggest that we visit Danny when we get off shift. Previously I've gone along with Sam out of a sense of duty and, to be honest, not wanting to let him out of my sight. Tonight I can't wait to get to the hospital. I think I know why, and I'm not proud of myself about it. I want to parade us in front of Danny, as a couple. I know he wasn't competing for Sam's affections, he told me as much, but I'm feeling so territorial I just have to show him that I've won. Something in my subconscious still can't quite accept that someone like him, a pretty-boy prostitute, wasn't after my partner's body.

He doesn't notice us approach straight away. He's got his nose buried firmly in a book with a little frown of concentration on his face. You wouldn't think he was a street boy looking like that, just some student getting ready for a term paper. Then he looks up and sees us, really sees the way we are together, and his smile is so big and genuine that I feel ashamed of the way I wanted to rub his nose in it.

"I love it when a plan comes together," he says.

"Told you he'd notice." I know Sam didn't contradict me when I said that this morning, but teasing him gives me a moment or two to squash the remains of my jealousy.

"You go from keeping your distance to needing a crowbar to pry the two of you apart. What's a boy supposed to think? I'm just glad that you've finally got yourselves together."

"Actually we mostly came to say thank you for that," Sam says. Well, _he_ might have. I wasn't nearly so noble, much though I regret it now. "If you hadn't pushed so hard, we might have carried on not admitting it for months."

"Yeah, we can't all be as up-front as you are." Though it would have saved a lot of time if I hadn't been so frightened of losing Sam that I couldn't talk to him.

"What, innocent little me?" Danny's not innocent and he knows it, and the way he flutters his eyelashes is enough to make me laugh at last. I feel obscurely forgiven, as if he knew what I'd been thinking and was deliberately making light of it. Somehow that makes his next words all the scarier.

"Er, Chris, did Sam tell you that we weren't completely honest with you about how we met?"

Oh God I knew it, I knew Sam was too experienced, too skilful when he took me.

"Don't worry, I wasn't lying when I said we hadn't had sex."

Danny I don't trust, but I have to trust Sam when he speaks. I've already mistrusted him once today, and I was wrong then. "I actually first called Danny a few weeks earlier than I said we met. I picked him at random out of the ads in the phone box. I needed to know what to do, in case you felt the same way that I did. I didn't want to be fumbling when we... you know."

He sounds embarrassed, but I'm overwhelmed that he cared enough for me to want to make it special. He succeeded too, and took me to heights I didn't know existed. "You weren't, Sam. Boy, were you ever not."

"But when it came to the crunch with Danny, I couldn't..."

"You had issues," Danny says.

I grin at him, partly in relief and partly because we seem to be taking it in turns to finish Sam's sentences today, but he's watching Sam with this indulgent smile. "Specifically, I wasn't you, Chris. So we talked instead." He shrugs at me conspiratorially. "I had to get past his inhibitions somehow. I didn't intend to become a friend as well as a tutor in erotica, that just happened."

Yeah, that's my Sam. Totally anal about some things, easy to get on with if you're prepared to put the work in. Given all the shit that Sam's been through, it's still a credit to Danny that my partner accepted him as a friend.

I have to admit that he's done a good job of the rest too. I've got him to thank for the reminders I've had every time I sat down today, and I still want more. "Looks like you did both pretty well," I tell him, and give Sam an affectionate squeeze.

Sam has a hard time accepting compliments, I've noticed. Even indirect compliments like I've just paid him make him colour up, uncomfortable at being drawn into the limelight enough to be praised. He was a spy, after all, I suppose it goes against the grain to be noticed. I don't care, to me it just makes him more beautiful. It reminds me that behind the distant English facade is a vulnerable man that I would give my life to protect and cherish.

I love you, Sam Curtis.

Danny's embarrassed cough brings me back to earth, reminding me that staring helplessly into my partner's eyes is not within Malone's definition of discreet. "Would your gratitude extend to some advice?" he asks, tactfully changing the subject. "Only I have to find a proper job for myself now, and I don't know where to start."

I'm thrown for a moment. He what? "How come?"

"It's just..." Danny struggles for the right words, making me painfully aware of how selfish I've been over the last few days. I've been so absorbed in first my own feelings and then Sam's that I never thought of how Danny would be affected. He's been having his own life crisis it seems, and we haven't exactly been any help to him.

"I dunno, being stuck here started me thinking about time and mortality and all that crap, and I just wanted something more permanent than doing what I do. Even if I don't know what I want to do. It's just... it's just time to move on. I can't put it any better than that."

I really have no feeling for what he's going through or whether it really is time for him to move on as he said, but I owe it to him to try to help. I think hard, leaving Sam to answer first.

"I never actually had to go job-hunting," he says apologetically. "I was recruited straight out of university, so I've got no more idea than you. Even my holiday work shelf-stacking in the supermarket came about because of a friend."

"Same here," I have to admit with some shame. "My family had it all mapped out for me, from high school to Naval Academy. Sorry Danny, that's no help at all." I'm not quite ready to admit defeat yet, though. "What sort of things can you do?"

"That's the problem, I'm not exactly skilled at anything other than making love, and I'm not over-endowed with qualifications either. I skipped out of GCSEs."

Sam seems to find the idea of Danny being unskilled highly amusing, but sobers up rapidly to offer some sympathy. "Couldn't stand school?"

"Couldn't stand home."

Sam actually nods in understanding, which I wasn't expecting. I'd kind of worked out that things weren't always rosy between him and his family from the way he was so sober after delivering Sommelson's photo to his father, but that's in a whole different league to hating home enough to run away. He doesn't really feel like that, does he?

It's not as if we've talked about our families, though. I haven't mentioned mine much because too many of them are dead and those wounds are still too raw even after all this time. I think I've let it slip that Dad encouraged me into the Navy, but that's about all. Sam only knows about Teresa because he saw my wedding photo.

It just never occurred to me before now that Sam had been equally quiet about his family. Then again, Sam's secretive about most of his past, claiming that a lot of it is covered by the Official Secrets Act. I guess that makes it all the stranger that he won't talk about family, the one subject that ought to be safe.

Danny's voice brings me back to the present and his predicament. "I vaguely thought of working in a library or a gym club," he says, "I know my locals fairly well. Hell, if the worst comes to the worst there's always factory work."

I snort at that, and Sam obviously agrees. "It would have you climbing the walls in under a week," he says. Yeah, take one bright and active young man and squeeze him into a dull, inflexible job. Brilliant idea.

My wandering mind finally makes the connection I was after, and I brighten up. "Sam, doesn't your father run a gym club?" That's one of the few things I do know about his family, and I owe that to Backup being pushy one night when we were all out drinking together.

"Technically it's a boxing club, but there's a lot of fitness training on the side." Sam sounds mildly pained that I suggested anything to do with his family, so I guess this must be one of those strained times. "There's just one catch; Dad's not exactly open to the concept of alternative lifestyles."

"Ah." Gay bashing as a community sport. I had forgotten that little detail of my partner's upbringing, and that explains everything. It's not like his father's going to welcome him with open arms if he tells him he's fucking me. Asking his father to take on a former rent boy is going to result in awkward questions at the very least. "Yeah," I say, "maybe not the smartest of moves."

"I could put a word in for you with him if you like," Sam tells Danny, surprising the hell out of me for the second time in as many minutes. There's a slight reluctance in his voice, but nowhere near what I expected. Given what Sam said about his father's homophobia, I'm surprised he's prepared to put himself in the firing line, never mind Danny.

I miss whatever it is that Sam says next trying to puzzle this one out. I must be missing something, 'cos it just doesn't make sense. I guess I'm just gonna have to ask Sam, which knowing him means answering questions about my own family, which is going to hurt. A problem for another time, then.

"Thanks." Danny does look grateful, despite the pretty poor help we're being. "Whether it works out or not, I appreciate what you're doing for me."

"It's the least we could do," Sam says, and I have to agree.

"Yeah, if Malone says you're officially OK, he won't object to us pulling a string or two for saving our butts." I smile innocently at Sam, who glowers back. Can I help it if I wanted my butt saved for him alone?

"Mr Malone thinks I'm OK? I thought he was halfway to slapping me one when he left." Danny sounds confused, but I'm not surprised. Malone is a terrifying interrogator, and he doesn't usually bother to let you know that you've passed one of his little tests.

"Sounds like every time Chris steps into his office." It's my turn to glare at Sam now while he looks innocent. It's not like I deliberately try to wind Malone up at every briefing, just when he gives us a line of complete bullshit and expects us to run with it. The rest of the time it's pure accident.

"That reminds me though," Danny says, "you'll need to watch out around Mr Malone. I'm sure he thinks something is up between the two of you, the way he more or less interrogated me this morning. I almost preferred being shot."

"More than thinks, I hope, since we told him first thing." Sam sounds faintly amused, knowing Malone's devious tendencies as well as I do. Our quarrel is still a little too raw in my memory for me to be comfortable discussing this in front of someone else, but Sam presses on. "There was no way we were going to be able to keep it from him forever, and I thought the sooner we told him the less angry he'd be about it."

Stubbornness and pride demand that I answer, even though I know Sam was right. "I still think we were damn lucky to get away with just a lecture," I say before I can stop myself. "He could have demanded our resignations you know."

Damn it, there I go again not trusting my partner. I've got to stop doing this.

"He did the sensible thing, upping the frequency of our reviews and ordering us to be discreet." Sam's voice is calm, not at all put out by my whining. "All modesty aside, you know we're too good to throw away like that."

Yeah, I know. I also know that I'm lucky to have so forgiving a lover.

Danny's still troubled by Malone's visit. "Maybe that's what he was after, trying to find out how discreet you were."

I'm about to explain that no, Danny, he was trying to find out how discreet _you_ were, when he drops another tactical nuke into the conversation. "At least Tina will be relieved."

I choke. "Backup knows?" Sam gasps, echoing my incredulity. If Danny told her, he's about to find out the true meaning of pain, the smirking bastard.

"She thought you'd been doing the dirty for months. She was the one who warned me Mr Malone was on the warpath."

Oh, that's fucking wonderful. All those months I spent playing look-but-don't-touch with Sam, and Backup thought he'd already said yes to me. So much for being discreet.

"How come everyone knew except me?!"

"Us," says Sam firmly, sounding every bit as disgruntled as I feel. "Were we really so obvious?"

"Must be natural talent," Danny says with a truly annoying little smirk on his face. Before I can think of a suitable comeback, his look changes to one of total incredulity.

"Bastard!" he says venomously. "Malone _was_ testing me. He was trying to get me to admit that you were together. He even suggested splitting you up just to see what I'd say. The utter, utter bastard!"

Turnabout being entirely fair play, I grin at him. "That's our boss. Now you see why we love him so much."

Sam is a bit more sympathetic. "For what it's worth," he says, "I reckon you passed. It's not like Malone has been bellowing for your blood or anything." He looks to me for moral support, belatedly reminding me that I'm supposed to be trying to help here.

"Yeah, he said that you were doing quite adequately. That's high praise from Malone."

"Oh yes," says Sam dryly, "we aspire to the heights of adequacy."

Danny still looks a bit annoyed, so I give him the best news. "He also said you were cheeky, but he said it like it was a bad thing." This time he gets a proper smile from me, as a fellow member of the Let's Wind Up Malone club.

Our cosy little chat is interrupted by one of the staff nurses, the one who always looks like she's sucking lemons.

"Mr Curtis? There's a phone call for you from a Mr Spencer."

I bite back a groan as Sam sighs and follows her. If Spencer is after us, then one of our leads has gone alarmingly live. Damn it, I was looking forward to some time off this evening. Sam and I have a lot of kissing and making up — or was that making out? — to do.

"Work?" Danny asks.

I nod. "Yeah, and Spence will be a bit pissed because our mobiles are off." Hospitals are a pain like that.

"It never rains but it pours."

I don't say anything to that. My mind is already half back at work and trying to second guess what's happened. Danny jerks my attention back to the here and now.

"Chris, the two of you are all right, aren't you? You know Sam has... issues."

"Yeah, I know." I'm a little surprised and a tiny bit jealous that he knows, but his concern for Sam is touching. "We'll tackle them, when it's time."

I'll do anything it takes for Sam.

"Just so you know, if I can ever do anything for you, either of you, just call. You guys are... you changed my life."

Now I really feel like the total bastard I've been to him since we met. He's been there giving Sam friendship, trying to rescue me, bringing us together in the end, and what have I done for him? I've been petulant, jealous and no use at all at a time when he's been trying to work out what to do with his life. I don't deserve his thanks.

"No, Danny," I say with an apologetic smile, "you did all that by yourself. You did the right thing. It seems to be in your nature." All I did was make it harder. "And besides, you're the one who changed our lives."

"You'd have done that yourselves, in time."

"Would we?" We've been dancing around each other for months without getting up the courage to really talk.

"Yes."

He sounds stunningly certain. I wish I had his confidence. He knows how Sam hides his emotions behind that icy exterior of his, but he thinks I'm open and up front. He doesn't know how I hide my emotions behind distraction and my allegedly short attention span.

He sighs again, distracted by his own troubles. "I wish I had the sort of skills CI5 needs."

He's got the heart for it, that's clear. Anybody who has been on the streets, seen what he's seen and done what he's done, and still wants to be part of the solution has the sort of spirit that you need in this job. Unfortunately he's right. Heart isn't enough in our job, and he just doesn't have the rest of the qualifications. The best service I can do him now is to make him comfortable with that.

"You'd seriously wish for a life of getting shot at, stabbed up, run off the road and generally blamed for everything that goes wrong?" My tone is teasing, but the words are true enough.

"Oh, like anything would make you give it up."

He's right, and we share a smile over it. I persist, though. I don't want him to feel that he's second best.

"It's a shitty life, Danny. You never know what's happening next or whether you'll live to the end of the week. You're much better off out of it."

There are days that I almost believe that. I'm too much of an adrenaline junky, though; no matter what crap we have to wade through, I still love my job. Danny would hate it.

"Maybe," he says, "but someone's got to do it, and I'm glad there are people like you and Sam who will."

Yeah, sure. He's trying to make like he believes me, but I don't think he's even fooling himself. I'm still trying to think of something to cheer Danny up with when Sam comes back in and cuts me off. He's on the job now, focused, so I accept his minimal explanation without fuss and make to go with him.

I pause at the door. I don't want to leave Danny while he's feeling this maudlin, but duty calls. There's still time for one last shot of the old Keel optimism, though.

"We'll see you 'round, Danny." It's a promise, not just empty words. I'm going to make a point of seeing him again. "You're one of the best, and don't you forget it."

Then we're out of there and back to business. Bastions of truth and justice, as Sam once called us. Whatever. As long as the job gets done and I've got Sam at my side, I'm still prepared to be a bit of a bastion.


End file.
